


and i feel fine

by caphairdadbeard



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/M, First Kiss, Insomnia, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Minor Alex Reagan/Amalia Chenkova, Post-Canon, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caphairdadbeard/pseuds/caphairdadbeard
Summary: It's hard to untangle your feelings when you've unwittingly ushered in the apocalypse and accidentally fallen for the subject of your podcast along the way. That's what early morning tea and introspection are for.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evewithanapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I hope you enjoy a bit of a glimpse into Alex's psyche and her trouble navigating romantic angst – and a grown man struggling to express his emotions!
> 
> A million billion thanks to **intrikate88** and **coffeesuperhero** for cheerleading and betaing!

Everything was quiet. It was too quiet, actually, and it had been for days.

It had been a week and a half since she’d been with Nic at PNWS, listening to the final movement of Percival Black’s Mysterium at the Axis Mundi, blissfully unaware that’s what they were doing. A handful of days later, she’d sat in that same studio with Nic and Strand and strung the terrifying pieces together. It had been a week since she got Simon Reese’s message about the mysterious demonic virus—and the incoming darkness.

Simon said the end wasn’t coming with a bang, but Alex found it maddening that they’d perhaps opened a door for demons to crawl through from the other side, and yet here they sat, waiting, tense and irritable in anticipation of a monster around the corner. 

Strand remained insistent that there was nothing real to any of this, that it was all coincidence and conjecture, but Alex had learned to read the tightness in his eyes. He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted them to believe. The strain in his eyes had only grown since Coralee disappeared again, since Thomas Warren had pulled at the knots that tied Strand’s extremely rigid sense of reality together.

The time since that moment of realization at the studio had passed in a hazy blur. She and Nic had made frantic calls to Amalia, practically ordering her back to the states, and Strand had become singularly obsessed with his father’s old research journal. He’d also begun avoiding her, though she assumed he thought he was being subtle about it.

The studio, which had served as home base for so long, clearly wasn’t the haven it had always represented to her; instead, they’d gathered at Strand’s house for what had begun as a weekend to collect themselves but was rapidly becoming a strange residency. Under the best of circumstances, Alex wouldn’t call the four of them a well-adjusted group; they were all investigators, researchers, skeptics—obsessives. Add a healthy dose of well-founded paranoia and subtract normal sleeping patterns, and their crack team of paranormal investigators/journalists was starting to crumble around the edges. 

The net of interpersonal tension that overlaid them all didn’t help matters, either, but no one seemed eager to poke that particular sleeping beast.

Still, in the face of incredible uncertainty, with a mountain of new information dumped in front of them, they had thrown themselves into the one thing that always served as a reasonable refuge for scientists and journalists alike: intense research. Alex had wrapped herself so tightly inside the cocoon of endless research that she’d almost convinced herself she could somehow _read_ the demons at bay.

That cocoon was how she found herself on the floor of what served as the living room in Strand’s house in the earliest hours of the morning, elbow deep in a paper box full of old research notes and surrounded on all sides by its siblings. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper, but she knew going to bed was fruitless for at least another hour, so she tried to steel herself to finish going through the box.

If Alex was honest with herself, her own world was barely holding together at the seams. They’d begun stretching and fraying since the moment she’d picked up the first black tape, but it felt like they were finally starting to give way.

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. She reached for her mug and realized her tea was cold—and probably had been for hours. Time stretched and blurred in the middle of the night, but she’d didn’t worry too much about it, almost immune to that quirk of insomnia. She stood up and cracked her neck before padding to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

As she went through the motions of filling the kettle and lighting the burner, Alex glanced at the clock on the microwave. It glowed 2:17 in an eerie greenish-blue that had felt mocking, before, when she went alone to a cabin in the woods and tried, futilely, to sleep like a normal person. At this point, though, it was more like an old friend than anything else.

She blinked away from the glowing numbers and wandered to the small table in the breakfast nook; she and Nic had chosen this spot as their makeshift recording studio on that first day, after…everything.

That’s how she’d come to think of the time they were living in, now. The After.

There were stacks of paper piled on every chair save the two crowded around the mics. Pens, pencils, and even more stacks of paper cluttered the surface of the table, and she idly straightened things up. There were printed emails and Amalia’s precisely written notes and drawings of sacred geometry and photos of the cave paintings from the Urraca Mesa. There were boxes in the living room and untold numbers of journals locked away in Strand’s study. There were books and lists of websites and archeology journals and more books. 

By her guess, they were probably about twelve hours from going full murder board and tacking everything to the wall with bright red string connecting the dots.

The kettle started to hiss behind her, and she hopped back to the stove to avoid waking everyone in the house with the whistle. 

She was mildly surprised that she seemed to be the only one up at the moment. She wasn’t the only person who kept strange hours, to be sure. Amalia often stayed up almost as late as Alex did, and they would sit in mostly companionable silence as they read and wrote and thought. They’d made a lot of progress on the long road back to normal after their falling out, after the Unsound, but they weren’t quite back to the old Alex–and–Amalia yet. Still, working together into the night was a blessed bit of normalcy, and Alex clung to it.

She flicked off the burner before grabbing a fresh mug and rummaging in the cupboard for the tea tin.

Strand was up first thing in the morning, worked all day in the study, and locked himself in his room in the evening. Alex had heard him moving behind his closed door well into the late night, but she hadn’t confronted him about it yet. She hadn’t confronted him about much of anything, truth be told.

She pulled open the refrigerator door so she could splash some milk into her tea before sitting down on a barstool at the kitchen’s large center island.

Things had been different between them since the night Coralee reappeared. Since the night they spent sharing a drink and talking, guards lowered significantly, for hours. Since she up and moved into his house and spent days upon days in close proximity to him while he did his best to pretend she wasn’t there—that they hadn’t just gone through an intense series of events together. That they weren’t important to one another.

She blew on her tea.

Alex was in denial about a lot of things in her life, what with the insomnia and her obsession with the black tapes and the weird things she muttered in her sleep and a demon named Tall Paul she might have invited into the world, but at least she’d quit bullshitting herself about Richard Strand.

She was in lo— ok, no, she hadn’t _entirely_ quit bullshitting herself. She had very intense feelings towards him. Romantic feelings, even. _Sexual_ feelings. 

Towards a man over two decades her senior who was still very in love with his lost-and-found wife, who was currently avoiding her, and who most likely thought of her as an overexcitable apopheniac who jumped at her own shadow.

Alex slumped over the island, pillowing her head on her arms, and tried to convince herself that she wasn’t normally this dramatic, that chronic insomnia and the threat of demonic invasion were getting the best of her. She knew she was fooling herself; romantic angst was one of the few _normal_ things she’d experienced since the inception of the podcast that had sort of ruined her life. She was pretty terrible at managing it, but at least it was something that people not responsible for the looming apocalypse also dealt with.

For example, other people definitely juggled attraction to multiple people at once! That much she knew. 

Surely some _regular_ person out there had also harbored intense feelings for a friend for years and then been forced to navigate an awkward falling out on a public podcast. Maybe a _regular_ person had also had to watch that same friend get involved with their own close co-worker and partner in crime.

Alex laughed at herself, the sound muffled in the arms of her giant sweatshirt. She sat back up and reached for her mug, wrapping her hands around it and savoring the warmth. She took a sip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her mind of the swarm of feelings the last year of her relationship with Amalia evoked: deep affection, wistfulness, a slightly bittersweet sense of nostalgia for the times before, when they were closest. The times Alex had been sure that she and Amalia would meet on the same page. So far, it hadn’t happened, and it seemed that they were both focused elsewhere for the time being.

As she continued to sip her tea, she told herself that surely some _regular_ person had strong feelings for both their friend and their...associate, while finding themselves increasingly drawn to the one who was old enough to be their father. They just didn’t have to do it against a backdrop of the looming threat of a demon invasion, was all.

It was a small comfort.

She set her mug back down on the island and was immediately glad she did because the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway nearly made Alex jump out of her skin and clutch her chest like the heroine in a cheap horror movie.

“I’m sorry. I...didn’t meant to startle you,” said Strand, voice deep and quiet in the early morning hours.

Alex looked at him incredulously while trying to calm her racing heart. He may not have meant to startle her, but he didn’t seem too surprised to see her in the kitchen at such a time. He was standing still and tall in the doorway, dressed in a bathrobe over his pajamas, glasses perched on his nose and hair well-kempt. Even now, he seemed put-together and walled-off, and she took a moment to hate him for it a little bit.

“Well, you definitely managed to!”

Alex knew she sounded falsely chipper, but she wasn’t sure what other tack to take when the object of her (misguided) affections—who’d been avoiding her for a week—showed up in the middle of the night and interrupted her internal monologuing.

Strand nodded his head slightly; she read this as a combination “yes, I see” and “my apologies.” She fancied herself fluent in Strand, despite a small mountain of evidence to the contrary.

He seemed content to let the silence stretch, and while Alex was desperate to ask what he was doing down here since he’d clearly known he’d find her, she felt like too direct an approach probably wouldn’t get her anywhere.

She settled on, “The kettle’s still hot if you’d like some tea.”

He blinked at her slowly before glancing at the kettle. He nodded again before walking to the stove, turning his back to her.

Alex let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Strand seemed utterly unaware that this entire situation was out of the ordinary for them, or that the ways he moved and spoke in the dark kitchen were...sensual.

She only just managed not to slump over onto the island again, instead keeping her eyes trained on Strand’s back as he fixed himself some tea. The silence stretched on as he went through the motions, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. He didn’t add milk or sugar to his tea, and Alex thought that sounded about right.

He finally turned back to face her, mug in hand, and he looked torn between staying safely by the stove or approaching the side of the island across from where she sat.

“Alex…,” he said softly, not raising his head to meet her eyes.

She didn’t respond; she felt like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Surely, somewhere deep inside himself, he had to know that saying her name in _that_ voice was completely affecting.

“I owe you an explanation for my behavior this past week.” He finally flicked his eyes up, locking his gaze with hers. It snapped her out of her trance and helped her find her voice.

“Oh, was something the matter? I hadn’t noticed,” she said, aiming for nonchalant but landing pretty squarely on sarcastic.

Strand sighed, and his shoulders drooped. He pushed himself off the stove and crossed to the island, setting his mug down in front and leaning slightly toward her. His posture was a bit more relaxed than she was used to, but he still felt guarded. Alex was immediately back on the defensive, even if he was the one doing the explaining.

“Obviously the past few weeks have been...difficult,” he started. Alex opened her mouth to quip back at him, but he held his hand up to forestall her.

“Please. This isn’t easy for me. I’d be grateful if you allowed me to get through this relatively unscathed.”

Alex bit her lip and kept quiet, nodding at him to continue.

“The events of the past week have brought to the surface a great number of emotions I’ve felt less than equipped to deal with. As you know, I tend toward keeping my personal affairs private.”

Alex barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Getting Strand to volunteer—or even confirm—information about himself and his relationships had been worse than pulling teeth.

“Even though I had been in touch with her, seeing Coralee in person for the first time in so long was...a shock to the system, to say the least. And despite the unusual circumstances of that meeting and the...complexities of our current situation, I found myself regaining equilibrium more quickly than I would’ve anticipated.”

He stopped for a moment and did something Alex had never seen him do: he ran a hand through his hair in a seemingly unconscious motion. She peered at him a little closer and realized that when she’d thought he looked more relaxed than usual, she’d been underestimating it. His posture was loose and open, and he was starting to lean further and further into the island – towards her. All at once, Alex’s mind started racing, and her stomach gave a dangerous swoop. She waited for him to continue.

“I was distraught when Coralee left, I don’t deny it,” he said, eyes cast down at the countertop. “I have loved her very deeply for a long time, and I don’t expect that that will ever change. Losing her a second time was something I would’ve guessed unthinkable. But it happened...and still life continued on. The sun set and rose again, as it was always going to.”

Strand looked up then and caught her eye briefly before glancing away and staring into the middle distance.

“In the days that followed, everything happened so fast that I wasn’t able to stop and examine my reactions. For the past week, I’ve been working diligently on my father’s research journals, but I’ve also been...inspecting my emotional response to Coralee and the events surrounding her reappearance.”

Alex sat frozen, waiting for the other shoe to drop, mentally urging him to get to the point. Her brain was filling in the blanks with every possible point he could be trying to make, and her hands were twisted into knots with the effort of keeping still and listening.

Strand turned back toward her, pinning her with his gaze.

“Alex. In all of the times I imagined seeing Coralee again, in every scenario that I ran, I never envisioned myself coping well...or even at all. But the thing I didn’t know—the thing I couldn’t have factored into those equations was a variable I couldn’t have foreseen. That variable is you.”

Alex thought her heart might beat out of her chest. Strand’s eyes were still locked with hers, and she was sure her face would turn bright red at any moment.

“Coralee appeared. You were there. Coralee left. You were there. Hours after my world was upended, you were there.”

He took a deep breath and looked away from her as his hand went to his hair again. Alex wondered how he suppressed that urge so well in his daily life. She’d worked so closely with him for so long, but he’d never once done something unconsciously—all of his actions were purposeful and direct. He seemed to steel himself for his next words, and the swooping feeling in her stomach intensified.

“I didn’t understand how you could possibly have affected the situation to that degree. It didn’t make sense to me. After all, you’re just a colleague—if that’s even the most accurate term to describe our working relationship.”

Alex sucked in a sharp breath, the swooping in her stomach coming to a dead stop, replaced by heavy dread. Strand continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard her almost choke on air.

“I looked back across our time working together, and I tried to understand how you could affect my emotions so profoundly when our interactions have always been professional. It isn’t as though we had developed a personal relationship of any note.”

Alex narrowed her eyes at him, an incredulous look spreading across her face. He continued to talk.

“I tried to convince myself that your presence was coincidental to my unexpectedly calm feelings towards the situation. I couldn’t understand how you could have such an effect on me. You’re a...young woman with tenacity and drive, but our relationship is strictly professional. I didn’t see how you could be responsible for influencing my emotions; you’re...hardly more than an acquaintance.”

Alex’s mouth fell open in disbelief, and Strand’s eyes widened slightly. He looked like he was about to continue speaking, but she cut him off.

“Dr. Strand—”

“That’s exactly what I’m referring to. You call me by my title. You’re decades younger than I am. I know very little about you, truth be told. You shouldn’t affect me this way.”

Alex jumped in before he could continue. She was done listening to this particular monologue.

“If you came down here in the middle of the night to explain to me, in detail, that I am quite unimportant to you, consider the message received.”

Alex stood up from the stool and picked up her mug, acutely feeling months of exhaustion. She turned toward the door, ready to retreat into solitude until the morning.

Strand moved to block her path out of the kitchen, coming to stand directly in front of her.

“Please. Wait.”

She found herself mere inches away from Strand; she could feel the heat radiating from him, and she closed her eyes tightly to avoid looking up. She felt completely off-balance and hated that she didn’t have a firm grasp on what was happening. Her thoughts were racing; hope and hurt were battling in her chest, but confusion was overtaking everything.

“Alex,” he said, low and smooth. “I’m not being clear...expressing emotion doesn’t come naturally to me, and I’m afraid I’ve taken the wrong approach here.”

He reached the few inches between them and wrapped his hands around the mug she was holding. Alex opened her eyes to see him gently remove it from her fingers; he reached across her to set it down on the island and brought himself that much closer to her. She breathed in sharply, the smell of soap and cologne and clean clothes filling her senses. She looked up and caught his eyes.

Strand hesitated. Alex stayed frozen in place.

He studied her face intently.

“I was trying to explain how hard I worked to deny what I knew, deep down. What I’d known for some time but that only recently crystallized...became undeniable.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw Strand raise a hand toward her. She forgot to breathe as he gently lay his fingers along her jaw, cupping her face, eyes locked on hers.

“In the end, I couldn’t convince myself that your influence didn’t make sense because it wasn’t true. You have influenced me more significantly than almost anyone else I’ve met. You have to know that–and you have to know that I know it, too. I don’t know where I would be, if not for….”

He trailed off, and his eyes flicked down to her lips. 

She took the invitation, tilting her face up toward him. He heart was trying to hammer its way out of her chest, and she felt dizzy from experiencing so many conflicting emotions in such a short span. Still, she held herself steady, waiting.

Strand leaned down–lips a hair away from hers–and whispered her name like a plea.

Alex lost her patience, pushed herself onto her toes, and sealed her lips over his. His large hand cradled her face like something precious, and they stayed locked together for a long, sweet moment. She savored the pressure of his warm, dry lips. 

The kiss was chaste and simple, but Alex knew that everything was different now. She felt it with the same certainty she’d felt that day in the studio, knowing that things were irrevocably changed. She wasn’t sure if this was more or less scary than that had been.

They broke apart slowly, and Alex felt a smile spread across her face. She didn’t try to stop it.

“Never let it be said that you don’t have a way with words,” she said.

He huffed a small laugh and rested his forehead against hers.

“You should go to sleep, Alex. Try to rest.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“How quaint.”

“Alex.” Strand’s voice carried a note of playful warning.

“Ok! Ok. I relent. I’ll try to get some sleep if you’ll do the same...Richard.” She murmured his name soft and low, studying his eyes for a reaction.

He shivered against her at the sound of his name and pressed his lips to hers again, his free hand going to her waist and pulling her tightly against him. Alex tilted her head and brought her hands up, threading them through his salt-and-pepper hair and deepening the kiss.

The kiss heated quickly, and suddenly Alex was pouring months of frustration and emotion and fear and bizarre affection into it. Strand responded in kind, kissing her firmly and deeply, holding her tightly like an anchor. She was grateful for his steadying presence; she felt like they were walking a razor’s edge and might fall at any moment.

He broke the kiss but didn’t let her go. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly with his quick breaths, and she tucked her head under his chin so that they could regain equilibrium. His heart thudded in her ear as he wrapped her tightly in his arms.

They stood there in silence, in the bleak morning hours, clinging to each other. Alex knew how much there was that was left to be said. She knew that this moment–quiet and calm, in the middle of the night in the kitchen–was an anomaly. When the sun rose and the rest of the house woke, they’d be back in the middle of a demon hunt with a podcast to produce and mysteries to solve and fear to fight. 

This moment, though...this moment was theirs. Even if the world as they knew it was coming to end, this moment would stay with them. 

Alex felt fine.

*


End file.
